The Irish standard., 1887-08-13
CHAPTER VII.

CHAPTER VII.
Brian went over his farm, and saw
that everything was as it should be.
He spoke to the steward about drain
ing bottom field. and desired him to
send round to the laborers OF the dis
trict, and employ sufficient number to
complete the work before the first OF
March. This order was given after he
had carefully examined a ee-year.old
col!, and satisfying himself that he was
worth at least sixty gl,ineas. Having
told the housekeeper not to kill chicken
for his dinner, as he had prejudice in
favor Of allowing a bird to get cold be-
ore the process Of cooking commenced,
he stro]Ied listlessly aboutttle fields. He
felt his cheek flush on finding himself
near certain stile not fifty yards from
a th.tched cottage, almost bid i'll ever
green's. As it was the shortest way to
Connor Shea's, he would take run over
the hill aud call TO see Sally Cavanagh
and her children. We must admit. bow
ever, that this was an afterthought; and
that Brian Purcell somahow found him~
self at that stile before an idea of the
little white house at the foot Of ohe
mountain occurred to him.
As he passed the clipped priyet hedge
which separated the cottage garden
from his own land. he stopped as IL
spellbound.
K felt such a strange longing to see
this old place, Mrs. HazIitt, I persuaded
mamma to drive round this way TO-
day These were the words that ar
rested the steps Of Mr. BRIAN Purcell on
the other side Of the hedge.
Won't you come in and sit down,
miss?'
cob, no''
Talk of bells and flutes, organs and
cuckoos! MIR. Brian Purcell would al
that moment make oath that there was
music in that oh, no!' the like Of
which mortal OF immortal ear had
never heard since the stars first sang
together.
THE happiest days I have ever known
were spent under that thatche1 roof,
Mrs. Haziitt.'
I don't think you'd like to come back
TO it again, Miss Evans?'
Well, perhaps you are right; butt
Here there was a break off. MIR. Brian
Purcell filing up the blank with the
resting Of a fair cheek upon a gloved
hand, and the falling down of q shower
Of rich brown ringlets, which ringlets,
he, Mr. Brian Purcell, had q dim recol-
lection Of having seen, perhaps felt,
falling down very close to his own
cheek, when the sad ringlets were just
a shade lighter than they are now.
Does your naighbor, Mr.. Purcell,
spend much time here noW?'
Hes off and on, miss, nearly every
week. And q good neighbor be is.
Twas only last week he gaze US two
horses to go to the collie1y'
Does he ever come to see you?'
We'll, no, miss; but Matt is over With
him often, particularly since he began
the garden: for I suppose
you know Matt has q great turn for
gardening, and he says Mr.. Purcell
will have one Of the handsomest gar
dens in the county next year
Well, l must bid you good morning
now. Mrs. Halzitt. Or perhaps YOU
would come with me as far as The
bridge where 5he carriage is. I could
not prevail on mamma to come any
nearer to the old cottage
with great pleasure, miss, said Mrs.
Halzitt
Brian was about proceeding on his
way, when his dogs bounded over the
little rustic gate into the garden, and
began to frolic aud leap round Matt
Halzitt, who, with his coat Off, just
came round from the back of the house.
He opened the rustic gate the work Of
bis own hands, like almost everything
about the cottage-and invited Brian
to come in and look at some monster
parsnips which be had just dug up.
Matt Halzitt, we may remark, was a
stanch Protestant, who used to quote
Scripture against Father O'Gorman,
and send him presents of vegetables.
After interchanglng a few words with
Brian, he went out to the middle Of the
road, and looked in the direction his
wife had gone. He then hurried back